Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I'm Not Okay
I think I'm okay...
3 reviewsAfter Gerard stays the night at Frank's house, what will happen? Kind of a filler :)
1Ambiance
A/N: This story has taken a whole new turn... Idek where it’s going. And views have taken a nosedive.
Megan
Gerard’s P.O.V
I woke early the next morning. At first I had no idea where I was, and that scared me. I thought I had gotten drunk and gone home with a stranger. Then it all came back with a bang. Frank. His thin, thin body under my hand. My horror. His reaction. If there’s anyone or anything up above, why would they do this to someone as sweet and, well, perfect, as Frank? Because, flaws, past and all, Frank’s perfect to me.
I rolled over and saw he was asleep still. Not intending to waken him I captured his lips with mine, but his green eyes sprang open nonetheless.
“G-Gerard?” He said huskily, eyes half closed. God, he’s cute.
“Uh, yeah, sorry for waking you. I’m just used to waking for school, ya know?” I say quickly.
“Oh yeah. School.” He says, then sits up. “I don’t usually go until I know everyone’s in class,” he says kind of awkwardly, melting my previously frozen heart, “That way I get less, well... less hassling.”
My heart is breaking. He talks about the way people treat him so nonchalantly. Because to him it’s just a regular day to be picked on and pushed. No one should feel that way. Why didn’t the teachers notice? Why didn’t his mother? Why didn’t anybody?
“Frank... I just... Why didn’t you tell someone? When it began? Just, agh! I don’t know what to say... Does your mother know?” I say. I literally cannot wrap my mind around the situation- how did it manage to get to this stage? Why? I’m just so confused. Why would, why could, someone do such a thing to Frank?
“My... my mom’s a drunk. She stopped caring when my dad left. And the teachers at that place are a joke. I’ve tried saying it, but they don’t know, they don’t listen.”
“Not even the principle?” I say. Seriously, what sort of school is Belleville High?
“He told me that boys will be boys and I shouldn’t let a few words get to me. He doesn’t know they hit me. Or else he does and he doesn’t care.” Frank whispers. He shifts so that he’s sitting with his knees tucked under his chin, skeletal arms wrapped around them. His eyes stare ahead at something he’s not seeing. He must be remembering all the taunts and the beatings.
“Well... I’ll always be here for you. And I think you’re beautiful, inside and out. You’re just so thin...”
“I want to be perfect.” He whispers, eyes cast downwards. He is truly broken.
I make up my mind. I am going to fix this, some way, somehow, I don’t even know how yet, but I will.
“You are perfect. Let’s get dressed, yeah?” I say cajolingly. He’s like a puppy that’s been reprimanded. His eyes are so big in his sunken face. I don’t know how no one has noticed- how I didn’t notice when I first met him.
How did I not notice in music, when he pulled up his shirt to show off his bandages?! Or how did I not notice how thin and spindly his fingers were in art that day?
But, does anyone notice? Does anyone care? Sometimes I wonder.
Frank’s P.O.V
I watch as Gerard removes himself gracefully off the bed, all arms and legs yet still more elegant and perfect than I could ever be. I also move to where my clothes are, but not so graceful. I can’t be graceful. I am too hideous.
What happened to not caring? Why am I suddenly thinking these things, instead of living everyday as I always have? Why can’t I get up and do what I always do, and go to school, and come home and while away the hours in my room until the next morning, when I repeat myself?
Why, why, why am I so weak!? I’m Frank fucking Iero, king of not caring! I learned how to lock away my thoughts, my emotions, how to hide it all, behind my mask, under my shell.
But the mask is cracked. The shell is melting.
Why?!
Because I’ve found someone who cares. The thought comes suddenly and I know it’s the truth. It’s because I finally have someone to care about me.
And now I’m angry with myself. I finally find someone who doesn’t want to kill me, and I’m crying and whining like a two year old. I burst out without warning, without thought.
I yell out angrily, eyebrows furrowed, and slam my fist into my wardrobe. Bad idea. It’s very solid, and when my knuckles make contact with the hard wood, I can feel them moving out of place, popping. I feel the tendons and muscle and whatever else is under the skin protesting and screaming in pain. I let out a howl and drop to the ground, still in pyjamas, cradling my hurt limb.
I feel an arm wrapping softly around my shoulders, and Gerard’s mouth is beside my ear, whispering softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I got you! Here, let’s go find the first aid kit, yeh? Come on,” he says, taking my injured hand by my wrist. I notice that his fingers are loose around it.
We make our way downstairs to the kitchen. He makes me sit on the island/breakfast bar thing in the middle of the kitchen and he gets the first aid from under the sink. When he opens it I can see he’s unsure of what he’s looking for. My hand is throbbing now.
“Get some ice and put it in a towel. It’ll stop any swelling. Then bring over the gauzy stuff and the medical tape.” I say. I know my way around a medical kit by now.
“Er, right, ice... where-?”
“In the freezer, top drawer.”
He gets the ice loudly and wraps it in the brown tea towel hanging by the stove. He brings it over to me and I place it on my hand, wincing.
“You okay?” He asks. I nod. I look up from my poor bruised hand to see he’s standing above me, and very close. I notice how very lovely his eyes are. They’re hazel, and entrancing. I don’t realize I’m staring until he shifts uncomfortably.
“Is everything alright?” He says, concerned and kind of awkward. He’s so perfect, even when he blushes.
“Yeah, just... your eyes are.... captivating.” I say, and mentally slap myself. I am not a soppy ten year old. Like, really Frank? Captivating? Might as well have said entrancing or spectacular or something equally as flowery.
Gerard chuckles, low in his throat, and God, does he know what that sound is doing to me?
“Come on,” he says, “let’s try wrap your hand without causing you to yelp. Just be warned, you should really get this looked at by someone who knows more than I do.”
“Um, I fit that category. I’m pretty used to being around medical stuff by now.” I say. It’s true after all.
“Er, right.” He says. I can see something in his eyes, it looks like pain or regret or sadness, I don’t know, but he lowers his head and I can’t see anymore.
He gently removes the towel to showcase my red, slightly swollen hand. I’ve managed to break the skin on two of them, and he gently wipes away the little blood that has started clotting. I find myself looking away; I’m really not one for blood. I can’t even watch Greys Anatomy or Criminal Minds or anything like that, because I will faint.
After he has the blood wiped, he kisses my knuckles gently, surprising me. He then looks straight in my eyes again.
“Okay, I think it’s best if I check everything’s in place and working before I wrap or bind anything. It’ll hurt like a bitch though,” he says, all concerned.
“Go ahead, I’m used to pain. I know how to deal with it. Besides, it’s definitely not the worst that’s happened.” I say. He just nods, his mouth set in an angry, tense line. I hope I haven’t pissed him off. I’m good at that.
He takes my hand and slowly, and ever so carefully, he checks the knuckle bones are in the right place. He makes my wiggle them slightly to shoe him they still work fine, then he takes the long white bandage and wraps the hand, securing it with the white tape. He then kisses it again.
“Okay, I think maybe we should get dressed now.” He murmurs against the bandage. I look down at him to realize he has no top on, only his skinnies from yesterday. I take in the alabaster chest in front of me appreciatively. This boy is hot! I want to touch him, see if his skin is as soft as the milky tone suggests.
“We can stay this way if you want.”
He chuckles again, and I love the low throaty sound.
“Come on. We have school.” I groan and roll my eyes.
“Kill joy.”
/
While we are dressing, I can feel his eyes on me. I turn so my back is to him. I’m very self-concious. I hurriedly pull on distressed skinny jeans- black of course. When it comes to my shirt, however, I blush. My mom’s been helping me with shirts and stuff, and right now she’s passed out in a drunken stupor. I sigh, then turn, where I see Gerard is dressed and waiting, sitting on my bed.
“Um, Gerard? Will you, uh, help me put on my tee-shirt?” I cringe, blushing as red as a tomato.
Gerard smiles softly and says “sure Frank.” He gets up and comes over to where I stand beside my closet.
“Which one d’you want?” He smiles at me.
“Ummm... anything black?” I suggest. He grins, and turns to my wardrobe.
“Let’s see what we can put little Frankie in,” He says, eyes glinting cheekily. I groan inwardly. He picks something out and turns. It’s a black tee-shirt that says “I don’t give a shit.” I don’t mind that, what I mind is that.... the writing is pink.
“Right. Just help me put it on,” I sigh. He chuckles at my expression.
“Hey, I could have picked worse. You’re lucky we didn’t stay the night at mine, or you’d be wearing one of my younger brother’s unicorn shirts!” he says, which does make me laugh.
“Oh yeah? How old is he, five? I wouldn’t fit in them!” I say, scoffing.
“Um... Mikey’s in our year....” he says, to which we both burst out laughing. God, it hurts to laugh with my ribs all taped up!
He helps me into the top slowly, avoiding putting pressure on my ribs. When he is done, I feel so ashamed.
“I’m sorry. I’m such a loser.” I murmur angrily and sadly, head down.
“Hey, hey, no! No, you aren’t a loser! And you shouldn’t be sorry! If I was the one all taped and bound, wouldn’t you help me?” He says, lifting my chin gently so I am facing him and his sexy, sexy face.
“I... I suppose.” I say begrudgingly,
“Exactly,” he whispers, before kissing me gently on the forehead. He looks at his watch then.
“Oh shit, we’re like two classes late and we have to walk! Come on!” he says, taking my hand in one of his, and our bags in the other. We leave the house at a slow kind of jogging pace.
Today may be okay. Today, I’m okay.
A/N: Please rate, or review, negatively, positively, neutrally, squarely, diagonally, bubbly, however you want to! Because I love feedback, even if it’s negative! Well, not really but.... I’ll send you invisible cake?! ;D
Megan
Megan
Gerard’s P.O.V
I woke early the next morning. At first I had no idea where I was, and that scared me. I thought I had gotten drunk and gone home with a stranger. Then it all came back with a bang. Frank. His thin, thin body under my hand. My horror. His reaction. If there’s anyone or anything up above, why would they do this to someone as sweet and, well, perfect, as Frank? Because, flaws, past and all, Frank’s perfect to me.
I rolled over and saw he was asleep still. Not intending to waken him I captured his lips with mine, but his green eyes sprang open nonetheless.
“G-Gerard?” He said huskily, eyes half closed. God, he’s cute.
“Uh, yeah, sorry for waking you. I’m just used to waking for school, ya know?” I say quickly.
“Oh yeah. School.” He says, then sits up. “I don’t usually go until I know everyone’s in class,” he says kind of awkwardly, melting my previously frozen heart, “That way I get less, well... less hassling.”
My heart is breaking. He talks about the way people treat him so nonchalantly. Because to him it’s just a regular day to be picked on and pushed. No one should feel that way. Why didn’t the teachers notice? Why didn’t his mother? Why didn’t anybody?
“Frank... I just... Why didn’t you tell someone? When it began? Just, agh! I don’t know what to say... Does your mother know?” I say. I literally cannot wrap my mind around the situation- how did it manage to get to this stage? Why? I’m just so confused. Why would, why could, someone do such a thing to Frank?
“My... my mom’s a drunk. She stopped caring when my dad left. And the teachers at that place are a joke. I’ve tried saying it, but they don’t know, they don’t listen.”
“Not even the principle?” I say. Seriously, what sort of school is Belleville High?
“He told me that boys will be boys and I shouldn’t let a few words get to me. He doesn’t know they hit me. Or else he does and he doesn’t care.” Frank whispers. He shifts so that he’s sitting with his knees tucked under his chin, skeletal arms wrapped around them. His eyes stare ahead at something he’s not seeing. He must be remembering all the taunts and the beatings.
“Well... I’ll always be here for you. And I think you’re beautiful, inside and out. You’re just so thin...”
“I want to be perfect.” He whispers, eyes cast downwards. He is truly broken.
I make up my mind. I am going to fix this, some way, somehow, I don’t even know how yet, but I will.
“You are perfect. Let’s get dressed, yeah?” I say cajolingly. He’s like a puppy that’s been reprimanded. His eyes are so big in his sunken face. I don’t know how no one has noticed- how I didn’t notice when I first met him.
How did I not notice in music, when he pulled up his shirt to show off his bandages?! Or how did I not notice how thin and spindly his fingers were in art that day?
But, does anyone notice? Does anyone care? Sometimes I wonder.
Frank’s P.O.V
I watch as Gerard removes himself gracefully off the bed, all arms and legs yet still more elegant and perfect than I could ever be. I also move to where my clothes are, but not so graceful. I can’t be graceful. I am too hideous.
What happened to not caring? Why am I suddenly thinking these things, instead of living everyday as I always have? Why can’t I get up and do what I always do, and go to school, and come home and while away the hours in my room until the next morning, when I repeat myself?
Why, why, why am I so weak!? I’m Frank fucking Iero, king of not caring! I learned how to lock away my thoughts, my emotions, how to hide it all, behind my mask, under my shell.
But the mask is cracked. The shell is melting.
Why?!
Because I’ve found someone who cares. The thought comes suddenly and I know it’s the truth. It’s because I finally have someone to care about me.
And now I’m angry with myself. I finally find someone who doesn’t want to kill me, and I’m crying and whining like a two year old. I burst out without warning, without thought.
I yell out angrily, eyebrows furrowed, and slam my fist into my wardrobe. Bad idea. It’s very solid, and when my knuckles make contact with the hard wood, I can feel them moving out of place, popping. I feel the tendons and muscle and whatever else is under the skin protesting and screaming in pain. I let out a howl and drop to the ground, still in pyjamas, cradling my hurt limb.
I feel an arm wrapping softly around my shoulders, and Gerard’s mouth is beside my ear, whispering softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I got you! Here, let’s go find the first aid kit, yeh? Come on,” he says, taking my injured hand by my wrist. I notice that his fingers are loose around it.
We make our way downstairs to the kitchen. He makes me sit on the island/breakfast bar thing in the middle of the kitchen and he gets the first aid from under the sink. When he opens it I can see he’s unsure of what he’s looking for. My hand is throbbing now.
“Get some ice and put it in a towel. It’ll stop any swelling. Then bring over the gauzy stuff and the medical tape.” I say. I know my way around a medical kit by now.
“Er, right, ice... where-?”
“In the freezer, top drawer.”
He gets the ice loudly and wraps it in the brown tea towel hanging by the stove. He brings it over to me and I place it on my hand, wincing.
“You okay?” He asks. I nod. I look up from my poor bruised hand to see he’s standing above me, and very close. I notice how very lovely his eyes are. They’re hazel, and entrancing. I don’t realize I’m staring until he shifts uncomfortably.
“Is everything alright?” He says, concerned and kind of awkward. He’s so perfect, even when he blushes.
“Yeah, just... your eyes are.... captivating.” I say, and mentally slap myself. I am not a soppy ten year old. Like, really Frank? Captivating? Might as well have said entrancing or spectacular or something equally as flowery.
Gerard chuckles, low in his throat, and God, does he know what that sound is doing to me?
“Come on,” he says, “let’s try wrap your hand without causing you to yelp. Just be warned, you should really get this looked at by someone who knows more than I do.”
“Um, I fit that category. I’m pretty used to being around medical stuff by now.” I say. It’s true after all.
“Er, right.” He says. I can see something in his eyes, it looks like pain or regret or sadness, I don’t know, but he lowers his head and I can’t see anymore.
He gently removes the towel to showcase my red, slightly swollen hand. I’ve managed to break the skin on two of them, and he gently wipes away the little blood that has started clotting. I find myself looking away; I’m really not one for blood. I can’t even watch Greys Anatomy or Criminal Minds or anything like that, because I will faint.
After he has the blood wiped, he kisses my knuckles gently, surprising me. He then looks straight in my eyes again.
“Okay, I think it’s best if I check everything’s in place and working before I wrap or bind anything. It’ll hurt like a bitch though,” he says, all concerned.
“Go ahead, I’m used to pain. I know how to deal with it. Besides, it’s definitely not the worst that’s happened.” I say. He just nods, his mouth set in an angry, tense line. I hope I haven’t pissed him off. I’m good at that.
He takes my hand and slowly, and ever so carefully, he checks the knuckle bones are in the right place. He makes my wiggle them slightly to shoe him they still work fine, then he takes the long white bandage and wraps the hand, securing it with the white tape. He then kisses it again.
“Okay, I think maybe we should get dressed now.” He murmurs against the bandage. I look down at him to realize he has no top on, only his skinnies from yesterday. I take in the alabaster chest in front of me appreciatively. This boy is hot! I want to touch him, see if his skin is as soft as the milky tone suggests.
“We can stay this way if you want.”
He chuckles again, and I love the low throaty sound.
“Come on. We have school.” I groan and roll my eyes.
“Kill joy.”
/
While we are dressing, I can feel his eyes on me. I turn so my back is to him. I’m very self-concious. I hurriedly pull on distressed skinny jeans- black of course. When it comes to my shirt, however, I blush. My mom’s been helping me with shirts and stuff, and right now she’s passed out in a drunken stupor. I sigh, then turn, where I see Gerard is dressed and waiting, sitting on my bed.
“Um, Gerard? Will you, uh, help me put on my tee-shirt?” I cringe, blushing as red as a tomato.
Gerard smiles softly and says “sure Frank.” He gets up and comes over to where I stand beside my closet.
“Which one d’you want?” He smiles at me.
“Ummm... anything black?” I suggest. He grins, and turns to my wardrobe.
“Let’s see what we can put little Frankie in,” He says, eyes glinting cheekily. I groan inwardly. He picks something out and turns. It’s a black tee-shirt that says “I don’t give a shit.” I don’t mind that, what I mind is that.... the writing is pink.
“Right. Just help me put it on,” I sigh. He chuckles at my expression.
“Hey, I could have picked worse. You’re lucky we didn’t stay the night at mine, or you’d be wearing one of my younger brother’s unicorn shirts!” he says, which does make me laugh.
“Oh yeah? How old is he, five? I wouldn’t fit in them!” I say, scoffing.
“Um... Mikey’s in our year....” he says, to which we both burst out laughing. God, it hurts to laugh with my ribs all taped up!
He helps me into the top slowly, avoiding putting pressure on my ribs. When he is done, I feel so ashamed.
“I’m sorry. I’m such a loser.” I murmur angrily and sadly, head down.
“Hey, hey, no! No, you aren’t a loser! And you shouldn’t be sorry! If I was the one all taped and bound, wouldn’t you help me?” He says, lifting my chin gently so I am facing him and his sexy, sexy face.
“I... I suppose.” I say begrudgingly,
“Exactly,” he whispers, before kissing me gently on the forehead. He looks at his watch then.
“Oh shit, we’re like two classes late and we have to walk! Come on!” he says, taking my hand in one of his, and our bags in the other. We leave the house at a slow kind of jogging pace.
Today may be okay. Today, I’m okay.
A/N: Please rate, or review, negatively, positively, neutrally, squarely, diagonally, bubbly, however you want to! Because I love feedback, even if it’s negative! Well, not really but.... I’ll send you invisible cake?! ;D
Megan
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